Blue tears, give me freedom
by x-iAmCannibal
Summary: I'd rather die standing, than live on my knees, begging please, 'no more'.


_**[A/N; So, this hasn't really got a pairing, for now. I'm not sure where it's going or where it will end up, I just came up with it. But if you've any suggestions then feel free to let me know. It's going to be rated M for sensitive issues, such as abuse and violence. Just a heads up on that. Oh, yeah, the title and summary are taken from Shania Twain lyrics, so I can't take any credit for those. (:]**_

"_She's gone to a meeting."_

"_She's visiting her unwell brother."_

"_She's ill."_

"_She's working from home."_

Excuses, excuses. He was full of them. But he wouldn't be able to fool them much longer. Six weeks since Carla had last been seen in the factory. On the day of their wedding, Frank had told them Carla had got cold feet, but they were staying together.

No one had heard from her properly and Frank had been an exceptional boss, keeping them sweet, keeping them from asking questions. He was building himself some great character references. Which was exactly what he needed, because if his disgusting little secret came out, he'd need all the support he could get to try and prove himself incapable of committing such an evil crime.

It was scary how much she'd deteriorated in just six weeks. From the feisty, no nonsense business woman, to this meek little thing curled up on the sofa, too thin and too pale. The lack of being out in the air had made her skin a sickly white colour and with so little sleep, she had permanent dark rings under her eyes. Like bruises. Like the bruises that he gave to her when he didn't like the way she looked at him, or if she hesitated before she answered 'I love you, too', if she took too long in the shower, if his tea wasn't up to scratch, if she'd left the television on, if she looked a mess, if she looked a 'slut' and sometimes she just wondered whether he liked to pick ridiculous faults just so he had an excuse to lay into her. It seemed no matter what she did, she'd be in for a beating so Carla Connor, for the first time in her life, had given up.

Being constantly terrified is so draining, so even if Frank didn't have her locked up in her own home, she doubted she would have been able to find the energy to get up and go out. He'd taken her keys, her phone, the laptop. Any form of communication to anyone other than himself wasn't allowed. Afterall, he couldn't risk her telling anyone what had happened, the night she'd refused to marry him. That was the reason for keeping her away. If she couldn't get to anyone, she couldn't tell anyone. He'd even dislodged the phone that allowed her to answer the flat door, meaning only he had access to her home.

"I'm home, darling!" Frank's cheerful voice made her jump, and hastily, she got up from the sofa. It was never a good idea to keep him waiting, even when he wasn't in a mood. Obediently, she waited for him to remove his coat, before taking it from him, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek before hanging the jacket up. Any part of him against her lips repulsed her, but it was better than his fist in her face.

"How was your day?" She asked, trying to sound like she had some interest. She'd chosen to stop caring about the outside world because honestly, she didn't think she'd ever get the chance to see it again. She was going to die in the hands of this monster, for sure. At least she was used to it, now. She was sort of numb. She allowed him to do whatever, anything to avoid a confrontation.

"It was work. It's the same everyday. I tell you what though, I'm starving. What's for tea?" He'd turned her into the true definition of domesticated.

"I…I haven't been well, Frank. I thought you could just…Have a take away or something." It wasn't a lie, every time Carla had opened the fridge door, the over powering smell of food had churned her stomach. Food wasn't something she was interested in these days. It seemed her body preferred to run on empty.

"Oh, you did, did you?" Frank's voice was angry, it had taken him all of three minutes to snap, this time. "So, I go out and slave away at work all day, keeping the business going, earning money to provide for us and you can't even be bothered to have something ready for me when I get back? After all I do for us ,Carla, after all I do for _you._ You're so selfish, do you know that?"

"I'm sorry." Carla's voice was deadpan, a template apology.

"You're not satisfied, are you? That you can lounge about here all day, without a care in the world, and I'm the one who's out there doing the donkey work."

_Not satisfied? Of course I'm not fucking satisfied, you monster! You've got me locked here, day after day, controlling me, hurting me and you're out there running MY factory. Are you really so delusional that you can't even see what you're doing? Forcing me to play happy families. You're SICK!_

Carla screamed back at him in her head, wishing she had the courage and energy to actually say those words to him, to be able to fight back. She opened her mouth to force out another apology, but he grabbed her shoulders, steering her backwards towards the sofa.

"How's about you give me some satisfaction for a chance, ey?" He spat, menacingly, forcing her down against the cushions.

"Oh, no, Frank, not tonight, please…Please, Frank. I'll do anything, I'm sorry. Just don't-" Frank's stinging slap across her face soon ended her pleading and instead caused broken tears to spill from her eyes. She couldn't do anything apart from lay there as he took what he wanted, again. It didn't get any easier to endure even though he'd started to take what he needed once every couple of days. She'd still be there, that first night, feeling the hard, cold floor underneath her back. Only each time was more agonising than the last, her body growing frailer and more bruised with every torturous day that passed.

He lay still for some time after he'd finished, his breath hot and heavy against her neck as his panting slowed. Carla flinched as he reached out, though he only stroked her hair. Even the tender action made Carla reel, him acting as though what he had done was loving and caring in any way.

"You did it again, darling. You keep pushing on my last nerve, and then things like this happen. You know this if your fault, don't you? Why won't you just love me the way I love you?" Franks now gentle voice was in her ear, and Carla gagged slightly, wondering if she'd manage to keep her stomach lining.

"I know…I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean to make you mad…" She didn't mean a word of it, the words were perfectly rehearsed. How could he not see that she'd never love him? How could she love a monster like him?

"Tell me, Carla, just tell me that you love me. I'll never hurt you again…I won't be mad at you anymore."

"I…I do love you, Frank."

It seemed the more she said it, the more he seemed to believe it. The phrase 'I love you' was tainted, disgusting. Carla knew she was completely ruined. She knew that she'd never be able to say it to any other man. Not that she'd ever have the chance. Frank was making sure of that.

After pressing his lips against the side of her head, Frank climbed off of her, causing her to hiss in pain. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to move again.

"Why don't you go and have a nice bath? I'll make tea, tonight, for a change. Go on."

At his words, Carla forced herself up. Whenever he suggested a bath, she jumped at the chance. It was an extra half an hour of freedom from him. Ignoring her protesting muscles, she shot Frank a weak smile, before making her way towards the bathroom.

"Thankyou.." She whispered, longing for the soothing effect the warm water would have on her battered body. She felt his glare right until she'd closed the bathroom door. There wasn't a lock on it anymore, Carla had tried numerous times in the beginning to lock herself away from him when he lashed out, so he'd removed her only form of escape.

Pressing her bruised back against the door, she slid down the cold wood until she hit the tiled floor, a flurry of silent tears spilling from her eyes. She hugged her knees to her chest, her whole body shaking. Every inch of her body seemed to be throbbing in pain, the sick feeling in the stomach always there. She was exhausted, emotionally, physically, yet despite it all she still felt numb, like there wasn't any point in trying to fight him.

Exactly how much longer could she endure his torment?


End file.
